


Shutter

by wailing_whale



Series: Something to Remember [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Photographer Dave, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, nervous first kiss, photoshoot, this is just an excuse to write lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wailing_whale/pseuds/wailing_whale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is an amateur photographer who ropes his best friend into photoshoots. They both walk away from it with a prize far more memorable than a few stiff portraits for the album.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shutter

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an idea that I've had knocking around in my head for way too long and I needed to get it out on writing, because just I love the idea of photographer Dave. Tell me what you think of it!

“Dave, I am _not_ wearing that.”

Groaning, Dave tossed the shirt onto the dresser. It joined a knitted sweater there, the blazen pattern of the one clashing with the muted burgundy of the dress shirt.

They had been at this for far too long.

“Well you gotta wear something, John,” he argued, arms crossed before him, “No way in hell I’m taking pictures of you dressed like that.”

“I’m dressed like I’m always dressed,” he protested flatly.

“You mean like shit?”

John made a frustrated noise. “Can’t we just get this over with? I look fine.” He flopped himself in defeat onto Dave’s bed, his pullover hoodie making his outline look puffier than it truly was. Somewhere outside of the room, down the incredible height of the high rise building they were in, a siren yelled across the street.

It was a heavy evening, the muggy air from outside sifting into the room like creeping sand, weighing every fibre of clothing down and making hair grow limp, moods grow bland. John was supposed to be at Dave’s place to work on the chemistry project they had managed to pair together on, but Dave soon learned that staying focused with John was impossible. Working with your best friend in any way is usually impossible, though they didn’t seem to have this foresight before they partnered. They had gotten farther off track than either of them planned, wandering their ways off the paved track of focus and moseyed directly onto the empty mental field of aimlessness, where they bantered and complained about the heat, John’s scuffed and new shoes, the way the Dave’s brother had left for the night without leaving them dinner.

Pizza, they could both agreed on, was the all time best substitute for going hungry and bored.

“You don’t look fine, portraits are supposed to be in quality clothes. I can’t take one in your shitty ‘i just woke up’ look. At least grunge has some style, this is just sloppy.”

“Portraits are dumb,” John complained from his spot on the bed, face down and muffled by the scent of Dave’s bedsheets.

“Why the hell did you agree to be part of my portfolio if you minded me snapping pictures of you?” As the amerateur and blooming photographer he was, Dave was serious about putting together and arranging pictures into a book and then showing it off to people with brazen confidence in their artistic integrity.  He was planning on making it into a college to hone his skill, if he ever got around to handing in his chem project and graduating high school. But college applications required a portfolio, and portfolios usually required portraits, and portraits required people, and John was here and Dave was here, and he had a camera stowed under his bed, so it seemed obvious to work out. Or it would have, if John ever got around to changing out of his rumpled sweatshirt.

“I didn’t ask to be in your dumb picture book, Dave. You held me at gun point, I had no choice but to let you use my face for whatever you demanded. But I know my rights, mister. I am demanding a full dessert in compensation and at least 300 bucks before I go through with this.”

“Should I get you a trailer too, so you can cry in front of the mirror and dab at your eyes with mascara stained nappies because of the sad reality your unfortunate face?” Dave deadpanned back.

“That might be a good idea.” John curled further on the bed, drawing his knees up to his chest beneath him and tucking his face down against the comforter. Dave wasn’t sure what to make of this, and he shifted his weight as he stood there, camera still in hand.

“Are you going to change or should I just start taking pictures of your ass in the air while you’re like this?”

He had meant it as a joke, his tone playful and light, but John immediately moved to rearrange his position, flipping onto his back and then propping himself up with his elbows. “I didn’t think it was that kind of photoshoot,” he warned quietly.

Scoffing and doing his best to make the situation blow over, Dave turned around to find something else in the depths of his closet. “Cool it, Egbert, it was a joke. No one wants to see your bony ass on display.” He pushed deeper in the dark mass of clothes. “Christ though, can you imagine? An entire art gallery of 50 inch prints featuring your scrawny posterior in entirely compromising positions, one set after the other, wall after wall. That is the future, John, accept it.”

A pillow from his bed thudded into the back of Dave’s head, and he remerged from the closet, clutching a sapphire blue v-neck that he really never wore. His glare set on John, all dark eyebrows and pseudo pout of displeasure.

“What?” John started incredulously, his face the picture of pure innocence, if innocence was a 17 year old boy with too much product in his fuzzed hair.

“Not to use a ridiculously over quoted quote, but I’m going to use a ridiculously over quoted quote. You’re gonna wish you didn’t do that.” Dave abandoned the pillow on the floor and came closer to the bed, one dramatic and heavy handed step at a time.  

“Oh, Dave, look at me. I am quaking in my boots. If I had boots, I mean. Which I do not because it is summer,” John chimed, his voice dangerously near a totally manly giggle. “But, trust me, I am quaking in my invisible boots. There are real tremours happening in my legs right now, Dave.”

By now, Dave was at the side of his bed, glaring over John’s stretched out body. His broad shoulders held him up to sit just below Dave’s eye level, a stupid grin on his face as he glanced up to meet his stoic look. Too scrawny to yet be dubbed handsome, too scruffy around the jawline to be a kid, John was the imperfect portrait of an awkward teenage. Regardless of what clothes Dave threw at him, he would never make for a perfect portrait, at least not until he grew into his bone structure a little more, fleshed it out and let his jaw do the defining instead of a half grown and sparse beard, but Dave felt the need to take pictures of him all the same. He would lie and say it was because John was strangely photogenic, which he wasn’t, but he liked the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and he liked the way his lips always seemed less than a millimeter away from slipping into a smile.

“Shut up and put this one on,” Dave demanded, shoving the cotton shirt in John’s face. He sputtered a complaint but took it anyways, and apparently found it to be to his liking, since he slipped off his ridiculously heavy sweater without another word and shed the white shirt he had on underneath. Dave didn’t have the forwarning to look away or have a reason to leave, and he found his eyes drawn to the smoothness of John’s chest, the way his collarbone dipped in all the right places where it met his shoulders, creating strong shadows in the studio lights he set up around the room.

“Stay right there,” he instructed softly, freezing John in the motion of putting the new shirt on. He strode to the floor lights and adjusted them slightly, holding out a subconscious palm to John, silently pleading with him not to move. John wore a confused look when Dave came back and fiddled with his camera settings, a look he normally would have had to change for the picture, but for now his expression didn’t even matter to Dave.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled, staying stupidly still, still latching onto the shirt in his fingers with an extreme carefulness not to move a muscle.

“You can still move, dipshit, just don’t put the shirt on yet.” He was crouching down by the side of the bed, getting as close to John’s powerfully defined collarbone as he could manage, and then used his zoom to finish the effect. Clean lines were drawn over John’s skin when he sat like this, the lights making every soft ridge and crest look a thousand times richer, a mountain range lit in the setting sun. Dave took an eternity and then an eternity more to take a round of photos, during which John was polite enough to shut up for.

Mumbling something to himself about his chest being actually decent for pictures, Dave stepped away to a more respectful distance to eye his subject once more. His subject looked up at him with expectant and curious eyes -- he always seemed to get that far off look when Dave was getting really into something, like he might learn some eternally evasive secrets from the way his friend adjusted the focus lens. It made Dave get this stupid warmth in his chest, not the same kind of warmth as the hot from outside, the humid that even now crawled into the room from his open window, spilling hot and dark into the room. It was something altogether different, the same fuzzed sensation as when he had his first kiss with a silly girl who put on too much perfume before he knew what love really was, and that was why he didn’t trust the feeling when it returned to him now.

Focusing his camera on John’s skin again, Dave tried to keep himself at least in the metaphorical field of off-topic, and not the highway on his way to the next steaming city over, mostly recognized for its rich culture of fantasy-based entertainment and inappropriate physical reactions in personal situations.

He took some more pictures of John like that, of his chest and shoulders, the small of his back and the two soft lines that traced between his hips and fell beneath his shorts. John said nothing to this, seemingly accepting his role in the photography process, though he did ask Dave why he wanted his shirt off if he made such a fuss about him getting changed.

“‘Cause anything is better than that huge sweater dude, even nothing. That is how shitty your sweater is.” He pushed John’s shoulder slightly back, making him tilt his frame and spring up the shadows that came from under his jaw. John complied easily, malleable and soft under his pressure. “Besides, it’s pretty damn hot in here with the lights and shit,” he further excused, running a finger to his own collar, loosening it from where it stuck uncomfortably to his neck. The humid air was nothing compared to the glare of the industrial lighting, heavy beams of heat and arid pressure smothering them.

“I guess. Are you just going to take pictures of my body or did you put that makeup on me for nothing?”

Preoccupied with the new shot and getting it right in his viewfinder, Dave took a moment to get his mouth working. “It wasn’t makeup, fartlord, it was concealer.”

“Whatever. Isn’t that still makeup?”

Choosing not to respond, he finished with his shot, the camera clicking dully in the overpowering light. Dave kept the camera to his face, but peeked up to look at John before him. He did look good, the dark circles under his eyes vanished and the slight blemishes on his nose effectively hidden. Even his glasses seemed to fit the environment well, framing and complimenting his intense eye colour.

“Guess I could try and do an actual portrait, yeah,” he conceded. John began to reach for the shirt again. Dave stopped him, though he wasn’t sure why. “Stay like that. It’ll be cooler for you and I don’t need your body in the frame.”

Shrugging, John seemed ok with the executive decision. He folded his hands on his lap, slouching a bit as he was off duty for the camera, and watched Dave with that same expectant look. Dave tried to keep his sole attention on the viewfinder, fiddling with the lens, but he kept pausing, eyes caught by John.

Finally, he got the picture set up and ready to take, but he frowned as his finger found the shutter. “Egbert you spend 25 hours a day smiling, why aren’t you doing it now.”

Thankfully, at this John snorted, his entire face falling back into his familiar glee. There was an endearing look to the way his cheeks got pudgier and his eyes all but disappeared when he smiled so hard, and Dave took a few photographs in quick succession. After he heard the clicks, John grew camera shy, gnawing at the inside of his cheek with a sheepish grin, apparently wary of how stupid he’d be looking when he laughed at Dave’s lame jokes.

“You’re doing fine, John, just be cool,” he mumbled, stepping closer to really get a sense of the pictures. John seemed to accept that encouragement, and he worked a genuine smile back onto his features.

“Perfect,” Dave said again, in his half speaking, half whispering sort of way. He cupped John’s chin to tilt his head away, then removed his hand, thought better of it, and finally moved his face again to look directly at the camera. He didn’t remove his touch when he took the shot, rather liking the effect it gave when his hand was mixed with John’s slightly exasperated and questioning look. The photo, as he stopped to inspect it on the screen, looked more seductive than it did playful. It looked serious and John looked good in it. He looked great.

Slowly, an altogether terrible idea sprang to life in Dave’s mind, one that he was more than willing to indulge in.

“Can you lay down again?” he asked, already pushing on John’s shoulder lightly, guiding him down. There was only a short moment of hesitation on his part before he complied, slowly laying back on the bed, watching Dave with cautious but trusting eyes. All mirth had left his expression, and instead things turned a little quieter, trepid and unsure but still trusting.

Still willing.

He looked up at him, hair falling down around his head like a dark and messy halo. It seemed like John had no idea where to put his arms, but Dave, sitting beside him, helped him out with deciding. One of his arms went up and over his head, falling back onto the pillow, the other rested and curled at his chest, somewhat self conscious and nervous.

It was essentially perfect, and Dave needed all the photographical evidence of it he could stake as his own.

John kept the same sultry look on without Dave telling him, which he was glad for because he’d feel a little skeevy if he started to ask his best friend to give him a sexy look for the camera. Soon he took all the pictures he could in that position, but it just wasn’t the right angle, sitting beside John like that.

Moving wordlessly, Dave shifted his position, carefully placing one knee to John’s hip and the other stretched over him, on the other side of his pelvis.

Straddling his waist, Dave looked down at his best friend with a slowly rising blush. He was straddling his best friend. His best friend, who was also partially naked, with humidity clinging and beading on his chest. His best friend, who was looking up at Dave as Dave looked down.

He held back a nervous swallow.

A moment passed like that, and no one raised an objection, so Dave thought it was safe to continue. He raised the camera to his eye, brain at least half focused on his photography still.

John looked even more perfect in the preview screen, skin smooth and eyes bright, his slow and even breath making his chest move to a hidden beat that Dave wanted to get to know better. He took a picture, and then another, and John didn’t protest.

He took a third picture and his palms were sweating.

John kept his quiet, expectant look, eyes asking and curious and calm, waiting beneath him.

“Could do with a closer shot,” Dave mumbled, mostly to himself, before leaning forwards, over John, till they were almost chest to chest. His forearm held him up, planted right beside John’s shoulder. They didn’t touch, not a single finger brushed against each other. Dave thought it was enough, and he forced his mind to focus on the next picture.

Quickly finding that a face on shot wouldn’t do when he was this close, he improvised and moved the camera to get a side look at John’s sharp profile. Leaning in close enough to have forced eye contact, Dave wasn’t sure if his own profile was ruining the shot as he leered down, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. John’s bare chest seemed to be emanating heat, waves of welcoming warmth wafting up to drift into his thin shirt. He swallowed, finding himself suddenly unsure of everything, and took the picture.

John, at least, had the decency to keep his composure during all of this, ever dutiful to serve for the photoshoot he never asked to be in. If Dave focused closely enough, he might notice the way his eyes were dilated and blown wide, his shallow breath, even the way his cheeks had a tiny tinting of embarrassed pink.

But Dave didn’t notice these things, because Dave was a photographer and he was serious about his photography, which was all this situation was. He was a photographer and he was photographing his best friend. Nothing more was going on, and any idle fantasies that pranced through his subconscious were in for a rude awakening.

Or they were, until John moved the hand that was on his own chest to snake up, find the back of Dave’s clammy neck, and stay there.

Time slowed down for a small moment, their eyes locked in a staring contest.

The fan above them turned slowly, sluggish in the heat, and the traffic from outside that danced through the window was the only noise in the room, but for a slight moment, an instance in the universe, nothing else registered but the way John was looking at him. He was biting his lip, just the corner of it, more nervous than seductive, but then again, John was never the graceful one. That never seem to matter to Dave, and he knew he was probably even less graceful than him right now, gawking, floundering for words that didn’t need to be in the room.

He found that John was in a similar position as he was when it came to sweaty palms, but his hand was soft and delicate enough against his neck, reassuring and pulling downwards with quiet insistence. It would be rude to deny, so Dave didn’t make a fuss, following his cues.

John slowly tilted his head up, subtly angling his parted mouth to align with Dave’s, and the closer Dave drew, the heavier lidded his eyes became. Finally their lips met in a soft press, both of them unsure still in their movements and careful with their lips. Thankfully, John was the more adventurous one, playing his mouth against Dave’s with all the skill of a new intern. It was uncoordinated and nearing on the messy side, but John’s lips tasted sweet and his touch on his neck sent waves of shivers trailing across Dave’s skin, the same as the lightning on the sweating sky outside.

Before the moment lost it’s realness, its steady and palpable weight in Dave’s mind, he pressed his finger against the shutter of his camera. The sound was like a seal, enveloping the action in realism, finalizing it and pulling the moment out into reality along with the both of them.

Dave lingered on his mouth, wanting to never have to leave again. He was well aware that this was not going to be a regular occurrence, that John was probably just confused and maybe a little horny, enough to give his pathetic friend a shot, but none of that changed the way Dave’s heart was still beating faster than he’d ever admit, or how well it felt to have John’s lips melded against his.

Despite his wishes, he knew he had to pull away sooner or later, and he grudgingly opened his eyes.

John’s cheeks were alight with a fiery blush, transforming his well tanned skin into something more electric and alive, like someone turned the saturation higher on the entire world. His lips were still parted and his hold on Dave’s neck didn’t let up.

“Do you think that made a nice picture?” he breathed, fingers curling against the slight hairs on the nape of his neck.

Dave had no other way to respond but a small nod, his eyes unintentionally flickering from John’s eyes to his lips. “Think I got the shot, yeah.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t out of focus?”

“It might have been.”

“Can we try it again?” John gnawed at his own lip again, probably not even noticing the effect it was having on Dave, who wished he wasn’t so pressed against John’s body.

“John, are you asking to smash your lips against mine again?” he countered, feigning shock.

“Maybe.” John was still obviously nervous, but he was starting to ease into the situation. A hint of a smile grew on his lips.

“While you are partially nude and I am holding a camera?” he added incredulously, not entirely sure why he was making this harder than it should have.

“Also maybe.” Now he was grinning for real, all teeth and childish.

“John, you are not the man I thought you were,” Dave continued to warn, but his own smile betrayed him, creeping and slow in its appearance.

“Wanna figure out all the other ways you got me wrong?” He apparently thought that would be a sexy thing to say, eyebrows on the verge of wagging ridiculously. Dave had to hold back a chuckle.

“You are the actual worst at pick up lines, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude before you kiss me! That is just bad form, Dave. Everyone knows that.” John’s hand was still on Dave’s neck, and Dave had settled into a comfortable lean on John, his camera abandoned on the mattress in favour of holding himself up with both elbows.

“How do you know I’m planning on kissing you? Maybe it was all for the shoot. Maybe I think you’re a disgusting little man and I never want your mouth anywhere near me again.” Despite his words, Dave’s face was fairly close to meeting up with John’s and he crept closer still.

“Maybe you’re being really dumb and you should shut up and kiss me already,” he countered, again resuming his persistent tug on Dave’s body. This time, his other hand eased up to hold at Dave’s waist, his sensitive skin coming alive in a tingle of frisson. He tried to hold the visible shiver of pleasantness out of John’s sight, but he noticed the obvious movement, and his grin grew wider.

“Dave?”

He rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming. “What.”

“Did you just shiver?”

“No.”

“You definitely did!” John exclaimed with a stupid and triumphant smile, like he had just won a round of mario kart and was not actually inches away from kissing Dave.

“Definitely did not. And besides, shit’s sensitive there,” he defended hopelessly. “Not my fault.”

His admittance seemed to please John, and he smiled in a closed mouth, tight lipped sort of way. Like he was proud of him or something. “That’s really cute.”

“What the hell, it’s not cute,” Dave argued, shifting against John’s chest to get comfortable and ease some of the weight he was putting on him. He felt too sweaty to be doing this, but there was something too welcoming about John’s heat to resist its call. “Just because my body decided to do the chacha slide for no reason doesn't mean jack shit. There is nothing cute about body spasming, John. I bet you see seizure victims and smile and go ‘wow, that is really cute’. Don’t lie Egbert, that is something you would d--”

His mini rant was cut short in the best way imaginable .

Letting his frown melt into something resembling a dopey smile, Dave leaned into the kiss, further pressing into John’s solid heat. The camera lay discarded beside them, forgotten in their longing to stay like this for eternity. John cupped his cheek, sweet and soft as he toyed with his lips, mouth hardly parted in their chaste kiss.

It was Dave who tried to progress the pace, easing his tongue between his own lips to swipe at John’s, who took some time to respond, but eventually let down his guard, letting him in. His entire body seemed to relax under Dave, as pliable and soft as when he was guiding him to pose properly. His subtle scent, lemons and an underlying sweet that made Dave’s lips tilt up into a smile, mingled with the rest of the room, nothing close to overpowering, but noticeable all the same. The noises from outside seemed to dull down, and then disappeared entirely, until all that was left was the soft heart beat in his ears and the throaty noises John eased out between them.

There was an insistent need to progress further, to make the soft sounds that came from John grow louder until they turned into open mouthed moans, to make the hand that was on his cheek rake across his bare skin and leave zingy lines of redness behind, but for now, all that seemed too rash, too fast for the delicate way John’s lips pressed against his and how their tongues slid together. For now, this was all Dave needed, and it was perfect.

They kissed until kissing started to grow stale, and then Dave nuzzled his face into John’s neck to breathe him in, and John giggled at the way his hot breath tickled his skin. They found themselves staying like that a long while, and Dave finally got off of his chest to curl up beside him and John pressed his nose into the crown of his head. It was hot in the room, the dark spice of outside mingling with dry warmth of the lights, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, and even when it did start to get too hot, they stayed like that longer than they should, less than eager to leave the comfort.

Finally, as the evening wore thin and their chemistry project was left to curl on the desk, John sleepily mumbled something about having to get home, and Dave realized he had fallen asleep on him.

“It’s too late to walk,” he reminded, “Tell your dad you’re crashing here.”

And so he did, and Dave went to brush his teeth and when he came back he was pleased to find his bed pre-warmed, a boxer clad John under the covers, already passed out like the inconsiderate nerd he was. Still, Dave wore a smile as he climbed under the sheets as well, tucking himself around John’s back and kissed his neck gently.

It was hot in the room, even with the lights off, but Dave slept soundly.

 


End file.
